Habits Change
by Eos Sol
Summary: All people have some odd habit. Some habits hurt, others are goofy, and some are questionable. And in time... all habits change.


Disclaimer : I own no rights to the characters or fabrics implied, those belong to Arakawa Hiromu.

In an office shared by six, the ebony haired colonel sat at his file covered desk. His eyes, darker than the night skies, were down cast, his broad shoulders slumped just a fraction that no one would question him and his hands… His poor, poor hands were hidden under his desk.

He was always rubbing his hands.

He always saw them stained with the phantom blood of the thousands he killed. It was such a bad habit. Very often he would rub them red and raw, ready to crack and spill his own blood. The insignia crafted gloves were not only worn for their flint finger tips but their ability to hide his oddity.

After the war he kept the gloves hidden from his sight, wanting as few of reminders of the hell fires he crafted as he could do with out. His hands suffered for the lack of protection. Many nights found him nursing his hands with medical salve and bandages, hoping to reduce some of the damage caused by himself for the next day. It was only when hazel eyes of his blond, lean Lieutenant caught sight and held his impaired appendages did he revert back to the special gauntlets.

The gloves would show up at odd times, staying only for a day at most, but then there were often times they would stay for weeks when he became heavily stressed. No one would ever question the appearance of the white cloths, thinking it had to do with some assignment or another, only his subordinate's eyes ever showed concern when they would show up.

Then he took to hiding his agitation under his desk or turning around in his rolling chair giving _her_ gaze his back. Though he didn't know the glass he then faced would betray his movements.

Only after a particularly worrisome week did he find another outlet for his concerns.

After one too many hours spent wasting time on the phone, he was forced to stay after hours to finish his tedious paperwork. While all his male supporting officers left for the night, only his Lieutenant stayed to suffer the stuffy atmosphere along with him. He caught many of her straying glances towards him, some with a displeased frown, other times with unreadable eyes lost in thoughts.

Then, when the moon was highest in the sky and he was no closer to finishing the lingering stack of files, she rose from her desk and walked over to stand next to his large chair. He quickly stopped his hands in their movement under his desk and lifted his head to lock eyes with her. She slowly reached down, both soldiers jumpy to quick actions, and captured his left hand in her slightly smaller grasp.

Softly and efficiently she pulled the flint infused glove from his hand then gently began to massage the abused limbs. Her hands showed just as much wear as his but they had already healed with time and constant use of the same tools, with nothing to protect skin from metal and wood, leaving them calloused and smooth from lotions. She switched between his hands a long moment later, giving his right the same attention as his left, careful to keep her eyes from meeting his.

Once the right hand had received the same affection she brought his arm higher to kiss each finger tip before switching limbs again to brush her lips against those as well. With each kiss upon his left digits she left a promise on their tips: the promise that all slain would be able to rest with ease one day; the promise he would see the fruits of his intense labors one day; the promise he would lose his nightmares to dreams one day; the promise he would have more lines from laughter than worry one day; and finally, the promise _they_ would live in peace one day.

Her calm voice lured him away from his haunting memories.

Then hazel met slate, both glimmering with extra moistness that would never shed. His thick fingers curled around her slim ones while the back of his index touched soft lips. They both knew it would be a long time till 'one day' but each had high hopes for it dawning. A rare genuine smile fluttered over his features that night which was returned with an equally rare smile of any kind from her.

He thanked her, longing to do more, before pulling away and going back to abandoned sheets of parchment. She, in her understanding and loyal way, calmly paired his gloves together and set them near his lone picture then returned to her forgotten desk.

He would repeatedly think back to that night, many times ticking off the promises she made with his thumb and other four digits. It still stole him from his other duties but it left soon enough leaving behind a small sparkle in slate eyes and a desire to keep pushing forward. And when he needed an extra boost, she was always there to replicate the small action of trust, confidence, and love.


End file.
